


The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barebacking, Blowjobs, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid!Len, M/M, PWP, Porn Without Plot But With Lots of Feels, Smut, Use of Clit/Pussy, consensual feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“As if you were on fire from within. The moon lives in the lining of your skin.” -Pablo Neruda.</i>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t need to know why Len wants to be a woman sometimes, be treated like the prettiest belle of the ball, doesn’t need to know when that need surfaced or what brought it on. He doesn’t need to know the science behind it and he doesn’t need Len’s reasoning to make sense. All that matters is that it’s what Len wants, and that’s what Mick needs to know—Mick has to know what Len wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> so glad to have gotten this finished!! it's an idea that's been kicking around in my head for a while and it's partially inspired by the recent Len-in-a-skirt craze that's taken over tumblr. also, major thanks to believesinponds for being my beta!! this is a million times better thanks to her!!!!
> 
> i'm really pleased with how this came out, and i hope you all like it too!
> 
> check the author's note at the end for a more thorough explanation of Len's gender in this fic.

Mick knows in an instant what kind of day it’s going to be. He always knows, he _has_ to know, otherwise none of this would work nearly as well as it does. He’s spent the past thirty years on and off getting to know every nook and cranny of Leonard Snart—his likes, dislikes, wants, desires, needs, all of it is locked up in Mick’s head and not even being Chronos could wipe that from his memory. The memories of what makes Len squirm and moan, the memories of Len begging, they all itch at the back of Mick’s mind constantly. It’s like a pleasant fire, rumbling softly in the corner and keeping the room just this side of too hot. Mick wouldn’t give up knowing Len’s ins and outs more than he’d give up his love of fire.

So when Len strolls in, eyes sharp and chin jutted out in defiance, with a skirt rustling around his thighs softly, Mick knows immediately what kind of day it’s going to be. Idly, Mick is thankful that none of the other teammates bat an eye at Len’s wardrobe choice—except maybe Jax, who mostly seems intrigued rather than appalled—and Mick is thankful he won’t have to be knocking anyone around for trying to hassle Lenny.

He’s also thankful that Len doesn’t have to explain anything; explaining things makes the days worse, and always have. Len doesn’t like explaining who he is or why he does what he does, especially not in regards to _this_. This is something that is his alone, even if he sometimes lets Mick partake; it’s Len’s identity and happiness and comfort at stake here. Len has never liked explaining why he wears skirts and make-up and he’s never liked explaining why sometimes he _loves_ to be called doll, baby, and sometimes even _miss_ depending on his mood.

It’s just how things are, as far as Len is concerned. It’s how things are meant to be. And Mick is plenty fine with that—more than fine, even, because there’s little he likes more than taking care of Lenny on days like these. And he _always_ gets to take care of Lenny on days like these, because Lenny needs it, wants it, _begs_ for it, even.

 

 

The day passes by like molasses, unrelentingly slow and boring. Mick doesn’t get to set anything on fire, and Rip only takes Haircut and Stein along with him for the day’s mission, leaving Mick and the others behind to be cooped up in the Waverider. The most eventful part of the day is when Jax leans over, lips parted with something akin to awe, and asks Lenny, _“dude, how did you get your eyeliner to look like that?”_

Mick grins to himself when Lenny flushes a soft pink in the apple of his cheeks and explains the method Lisa taught him, perfect for getting the thinnest, most artful stretch of eyeliner to curve along his eyelid. It’s striking, and makes the blue of Len’s eyes stand out that much more, and is just subtle enough that it creates a perfect balance of delicate femininity and Len’s usual sharpness.

 

 

Mick is buzzing with energy by the time night actually falls and the ‘mission of the day’ is taken care of. Mick waits in his room, back against the wall as he sits on the bed, knee shaking incessantly as he waits. He thumbs the lighter in his pocket but doesn’t bring it out to play; instead he wraps his fingers around it and lets the touch of the smooth outside calm him. He always gets to take care of Lenny on these days—and on other days, but these nights are his favorite—it’s just a matter of when Len decides it’s time.

The bedroom door slipping open seems obnoxiously loud in its suddenness. Mick sits up a little straighter in response and breaks out into a helpless grin.

Len stands in the doorway, more flushed than before but smiling just as bright. The skirt still ghosts across his thighs and he’s still wearing the skinny pants from earlier. He’s no longer got a sweater on, just a black tee that stretches tight across his chest.

“Hey, Mick.” Len speaks softly as he steps into the room and lets the door slide shut behind him.

“Hey, doll,” Mick replies. He pats the bed beside him eagerly, and his grin widens when Len takes a few steps closer. “What’s the plan tonight?”

Len slips onto the bed slowly until he’s kneeling beside Mick, reaching out to grip his shoulders for support. “All the way.”

Mick reaches out and grips Len’s waist. He tucks his thumbs under the hem of Len’s shirt and massages the soft skin there. “Anything special?” Mick asks, like he always does, and leans forward to suck a gentle kiss in the hollow of Len’s throat.

“I want to ride you.” The _please_ is unspoken but clear to Mick’s ears.

“Course, gorgeous,” Mick agrees. “Can I take this off?” He asks as he tugs at Len’s shirt. When he doesn’t get an answer, he slips his hands entirely under the fabric and his fingers find Len’s nipples quickly. “Not wearing a bra today?” Mick asks with a filthy, all-teeth grin. He pinches and pulls and lets the curve of his nail dig into the sensitive, pebbled flesh of Len’s chest until he gets a gasp.

“Mick,” Len’s tone is laced with a warning, one that is more _get on with it_ than _stop_.

“Gotta tell me it’s okay, Lenny,” Mick murmurs. His hands drop and clutch at the bottom of Len’s shirt and tug it upwards slowly. “Can I take this off?” Mick asks again, “will you let me see your tits, babe?”

Len shudders and nods and his grip on Mick’s shoulders tightens for a split second.

Mick takes it as the best answer he’ll get and draws the hem of the shirt up until Len raises his arms. Mick yanks it off the rest of the way and tosses it aside before returning his touch to Len’s chest. His focus is eager and direct, the same as when faced with a gorgeous flame. He pinches one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and brings his mouth to the other one. Len presses his chest forward insistently and Mick suckles the tight skin and nips the flushed, pert bud.

He pulls back when Len’s panting gets breathless and rapid and his whole chest is a blotchy red from pleasure. “Eager, babe?”

Len groans in response and tilts forward until he can kiss the top of Mick’s head. He murmurs against the skin and his fingertips dance along Mick’s neck and shoulders. “It’s been a while,” he eventually confesses.

And ain’t that the truth, Mick thinks. It feels like it’s been eons for him, his time as Chronos still haunting him and distorting his perception of time. Mick just hums in agreement and pulls back far enough to admire the patch of red-suckled skin blooming across Len’s nipple. “Been missing this, doll.”

Len nods and lets out a long shuddering breath. “Help me out of my pants?”

Mick, rather than answering, grabs Len by the hips and tilts him sideways until he’s flat on his back. He looms over Len and reaches for his feet first, unlacing the shiny black boots that come up to the ankle, taking them off slowly and tossing them aside just as he’d done the shirt. He peels off Len’s socks next, and it’s far from sexy but it’s tremendously intimate. Every moment like this is, when it’s just the two of them—every moment feels like it’s on the precipice of something great and Mick feels honored to get to take Len apart and put him back together this way.

Mick runs his fingers along Lens calves, teases the back of his knees and earns a swat to his shoulder, then keeps his touch moving to dance along Len’s fabric-clad thighs. The pants are just shy of skin-tight and Mick would be plenty happy to see Len in just those pants, skirt or no. The waistband of the pants clings to Len’s hips and Mick lets his fingertips drag gently across the soft skin of Len’s groin. Mick pulls at the pants slowly until they bunch around Len’s knees.

Helpless to resist, Mick abandons taking care of Len’s pants to lift up the edge of the skirt. “ _And_ no underwear, what’s gotten into you today, babe?” Mick reaches out and teases the line where thigh meets pelvis and pointedly doesn’t touch Len where he wants it most.

Len keens and knees Mick in the side just to get him into action again. Mick chuckles quietly as he finishes pulling at Len’s pants, helping Len twist and turn on the bed to get them off one leg, then the other. Mick drops them off the side of the bed then pushes Len’s legs apart.

“Answer me, missy,” Mick says slowly. “What’s gotten into you?” Mick rubs tantalizing circles against the soft, fleshy sides of Len’s thighs.

Len flushes the brightest pink Mick’s ever seen but answers, eventually. “Missed you,” Len confesses, “missed this.” Len throws an arm over his eyes and tries to breathe deeply until his blush subsides a little. “I just—I want this, for a little longer. I want—Mick, please,” the words stick in Len’s throat. Mick knows Len hates to explain himself but Mick, as is true in many cases, is the exception to the rule.

He doesn’t need to know why Len wants to be a woman sometimes, be treated like the prettiest belle of the ball, doesn’t need to know when that need surfaced or what brought it on. He doesn’t need to know the science behind it and he doesn’t need Len’s reasoning to make sense. All that matters is that it’s what Len wants, and that’s what Mick needs to know—Mick _has_ to know what Len wants.

“Tell me, baby, what do you want?”

Len relaxes into the bed and his arms fall to his sides again. “I want to be pretty—for myself. For you, too,” Len adds, “I want…I want you to think of me…that way.” Len’s tone is still drawling but nowhere near as snarky or cocky as it normally is. He’s quieter, more honest and his emotions laid bare just for Mick.

“You know you’re gorgeous, Lenny,” Mick assures. “What do you want me to do first?” He trails his fingers along the crack of Len’s ass, and raises an eyebrow at Len. “Want me to eat you out? Get you nice and wet for me?”

Len keens and his hips buck.

“Or should I play with your clit,” Mick, again, speaks slowly, testing the waters. If the language is wrong, if it isn’t what Len needs, he’ll say so. Mick plays it cautiously until he gets a minute nod, a go-ahead. “Want me to touch your clit, Lenny?”

“Please,” Len breathes out, “please, anything, Mick. Just—give it to me.”

Mick grins to himself before ducking his head down and letting the skirt slip over his head. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears as Len’s thighs fall across his shoulders and cage him in. Mick moves forward slowly and lets his breath fan out hot over Len’s sensitive skin; as he moves, Mick can feel the muscles in Len’s thighs twitch and spasm in anticipation. Mick grins and rubs his smile along Len’s cock, kissing the hot and stretched skin until he reaches the leaking tip.

Mick lets his mind wander as he wraps his lips around the head and sucks; he lets his eyes drift shut and loses himself in the familiar rhythm and taste of sucking Len off, swallowing the beads of precome leaking onto his tongue like clockwork. He loses himself in the pitchy, breathless moans toppling past Len’s lips and the way Len’s fingers clench in the fabric of the skirt, knocking lightly against the sides of Mick’s head. He loves the feeling of Len in his mouth and he loves Len’s reactions. The only drawback, in Mick’s opinion, is that it’s terribly hard to mutter filthy nothings to Len when Mick’s mouth is full of cock. All the same, it’s heady, nearly suffocating to have the skirt and Len’s legs practically wrapped around his head, mouth thoroughly occupied.

Mick loves it, and pulls back reluctantly. “You with me, doll?”

The skirt slips off Mick’s head but Len’s hands keep it from draping across the evidence of his arousal. It’s an unnecessary, bitter reminder in moments like these, the way fabric tents around his groin.

There are days where Len is pretty only because of genes, and there are days where Len strikes a balance between being masculine and feminine—and there are days like today. Days like today where the last thing Len wants is to think too much about what’s between his legs.

“Baby?” Mick asks when the silence stretches too long. “Still with me? Still okay?” Mick searches the crystal blue of Len’s eyes for discomfort, uncertainty, any sign that this needs to stop.

“Still here,” Len agrees, voice a quiet croak. “Just,” he makes a noise of distress and trails off.

Mick shifts and slots himself against Len’s body and gets as close as he can. “What can I do?” Mick asks as he maneuvers around enough to shed his jacket and shirt. “Gotta talk to me, baby.”

Len lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Trying to forget.” Len’s eyes are closed tight and his face is turned to side, pressed into the bed and away from Mick.

Mick leans down and kisses softly at the line of Len’s jaw. “What can I do?” He asks again. When he doesn’t get an answer, he goes with what burns his gut as the right idea. “Do I need to remind you how gorgeous you are, Lenny? How sexy you are?” Mick reaches to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of lube as subtly as he can.

Len whimpers, muted behind his pursed lips.

“Do I gotta tell you that you’re the best damn gal a man could ask for? Smart, sexy, damn sharp.” Mick nips at Len’s earlobe and slicks up a single finger. He nudges Len’s legs ever so gently until they fall open wider, and that’s Mick’s best clue that this is still okay, that this is still happening. Mick runs his slick finger along the crack of Len’s ass until he hits the puckered skin of his hole and presses in slowly.

“Mick,” Len sighs and the tension seeps from his body, just enough to let Mick’s finger slide in a little easier.

“That’s it, baby, you’re gonna be so wet for me.” Mick’s cock is still aching in his pants but he ignores the insistent buzz of lust in his veins to keep all his attention on Len. “Gonna be dripping wet for my cock, soaking for me, so good.” Mick sits back to drizzle more lube across his fingers and on his next push in, slides in two fingers.

Len keens and he clenches around Mick’s fingers, his knees jerking and pinning against Mick’s sides.

“Yeah, doll, that’s it. Feel good?”

Len finally looks at Mick and nods.

“Want another?”

Mick obliges after another nod and slips a third finger in, the width of them slightly wider than his cock. It’s more than Len needs—Len can take the burn, the stretch, and Mick knows this but the looser, slicker, more open Len is the better this will be. The better Len will feel, the less tension will sit in his body, the more comfortable he’ll be. And that’s all Mick needs, really, is for Len to be happy and comfortable and desperate for it.

Mick keeps his fingers moving at a steady pace, his thumb teasing the sensitive space behind Len’s balls, until Len’s back arches and his breathing hitches.

“Good? Is your pussy ready for my cock, doll?” Mick’s own skin burns at the words, a thrill rushing through him that he gets to see Len like this, gets to fill Len’s every need. “Wanna hear you say it, baby.”

Len’s chest heaves. “Please—Mick, _fuck_ me.” Len’s hips buck and his legs lock around Mick’s waist, all thoughts of riding Mick forgotten in favor of being close, being face to face like this.

Mick just grins and grips the base of his cock to guide himself into Len’s slick and open hole. He drops his head back and groans as he sinks into Len, the heat surrounding his dick almost too much, too fast, too _good_. Mick’s hips stutter and he presses himself deeper inside Len.

“Fuck, babe, you feel so good around my cock, your pussy is so hot.”

Len moans and his hands latch onto Mick’s shoulders. “Fuck, Mick, _Mick_.”

“You like that, Lenny? Like my thick cock inside you? Want me to come in your slick little pussy?” The filth spews from Mick’s lips easily, like a script he’s always known that sets Len’s body ablaze with a blush. Mick moves a hand from Len’s hip to tease the swollen head of Len’s cock and keeps talking. “Look at your clit, Lenny, so swollen just for me. You love my dick inside you, huh? Love me filling you up, getting you so wet and horny for me.”

Len’s eyes are closed again, tight as before, but this time his lips are open in a long drawn out breathless moan and the only tension in his body is from his mounting orgasm.

“Y’gonna come for me, doll? Come with my cock inside you?” Mick bends forward over Len’s body and holds himself up just high enough to keep their lips an inch apart. “Will you squirt all over your pretty little skirt for me? Get it nice and dirty?” Mick kisses Len softly, gently, briefly on the lips and thrusts his hips forward until his balls slap against Len’s ass. “C’mon, Lenny, do it, get off on my cock.”

Len does. His back arches and the friction of the skirt against his cock tips him over the edge. His come splatters along the inside of the skirt, dark and wet stains blooming across the dark gray fabric. His knees dig painfully into Mick’s sides, hard enough to leave bruises. His mouth opens in a wordless, silent shout as his orgasm rushes through his body. His lips part: flushed and red and wet and Mick can’t help but lean in and nibble on Len’s lower lip.

Len’s body goes lax as the high of his lust fades; he looks up at Mick, eyeliner smeared only a little from his tossing and turning, and grins. “Your turn,” he murmurs against Mick’s mouth. “Come inside me, Mick,” he clenches around Mick’s cock, “c’mon,” he urges, not impatient so much as encouraging.

Mick’s words finally seem to run out, instead replaced with groans and grunts and nonsensical mutterings as he fucks into Len’s spent and pliant body. He curls his arms around Len’s back and holds him close, buries his face against Len’s neck and moans as the heat starts to pool in his groin, as his balls tighten. He opens his mouth against the juncture Len’s neck and shoulder but rather than biting down, he exhales hot and fast against the sweat-slick skin as his orgasm hits him.

Mick rams his hips forward a last few times before stilling as deep in Len as he can get. He shudders as his come spills into Len, making everything wetter and filthier than it already is. When he’s finally done, Mick doesn’t pull out, instead collapsing on top of Len.

“Mm, Mick, you’re heavy,” Len hisses though he scrapes his nails affectionately across Mick’s scalp.

“Y’like it, babe.” Mick’s retort is slurred by sleep and contentedness.

“I’d like it better if I wasn’t sticky,” Len admits with a pointed stare between them where his come is drying on his skirt and thighs. “Clean us up and you can _snuggle_ all you want, Mick.”

Mick doesn’t bother to grumble or put up a fight. This is as much a part of their routine as anything else; Mick gets to take care of Len, and that includes this. It includes Mick groggily slipping from the bed to the bathroom and returning with a cloth, wiping himself down first then putting the damp fabric to Len’s own body. Mick cleans him silently and diligently, first yanking the skirt off Len’s hips then wiping his thighs clean. He parts Len’s legs with a simple look, and wipes his ass clean as he can, though Mick doesn’t mind the thought of his come sitting inside Len, a mark of companionship, ownership.

Len is softly dozing by the time Mick has disposed of the cloth and returned to the bed. Mick slides in and latches onto Len again. He curls around Len’s back and wraps his arms around Len’s chest. He kisses the delicate, sensitive spot behind Len’s ear before breaking the silence that settled.

“Doing okay, Lenny?”

Len hums, a pleased sound laced with exhaustion. He curls his hands over Mick’s arms as though to secure their position, wrapped up in one another. “Doing great, Mick.”

“Need anything?” Mick asks though sleep is tugging at him insistently.

Len’s face contorts into an expression more serious. He considers Mick’s words and Mick can practically see the gears turning in his head. “I—I think I’m good.” Len finally decides as he leans more fully into Mick’s embrace. He inhales, exhales, then speaks again. “Could you—could you tell me—?”

Mick cuts across him easily, even with words weighed down with desire to sleep. “You’re so beautiful, Lenny, I can promise y’that. God damn most gorgeous gal I’ve ever seen.” Mick kisses Len’s shoulder once. “And you’re _my_ gal,” Mick adds, “my _wife_.” The word sends a spark of delight running along Mick’s spine. It’s as much of a thrill to think of Lenny as his wife as it is to think of Len as his husband, and it’s quite possibly Mick’s favorite part of this whole situation.

Len sighs and it’s a sweet and enamored wordless appreciation of Mick’s own words. Len finally settles and the lingering buzz of anxiety and unease under his skin dissipates.

Mick watches Len fall asleep with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings/heads up: this fic features genderfluid Len, and for this fic & character that means that sometimes, Len identifies as male, sometimes he identifies as agender, and sometimes he identifies as a woman. He still uses he/him pronouns (and as such this fic will in the narrative) but in terms of others speaking to him/Mick speaking to him, in this fic he prefers to be spoken to as a woman. This is also a smut fic, so there is usage of the words clit and pussy in reference to Len's genitalia. 
> 
> Additional disclaimers: I myself am a demigirl, and I sort of deal with what Len experiences in this fic in terms of dysphoria and his gender. That said, most of his experiences/reactions/preferences are based on that of my ex, who identified exactly as Len does in this fic. I hope this all makes sense and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!


End file.
